The old Bourbon kings of France understood their people. While they made it hard for the common people to get a living they made it easy for them to have a good time. Whenever the public kicked on taxes, the king laid out a new park and gave a fête with free drinks and fireworks. The Bourbons would probably be reigning yet if Louis the Sixteenth and his wife, Marie Antoinette, had had any sense. Antoinette was German and did not understand the French ways, Louis was a poor politician, and when a storm came they lost their heads figuratively and then lost them actually. The republic lasted a few years and then Napoleon, who was as great a player to the grandstand as he was a general, became emperor, and only his foolish desire to conquer everybody lost him his job. The Bourbons came back as kings, but they had no sense. The French people want to be fooled, and these kings couldn’t fool anybody. So there was another republic, and then Napoleon the Third came to the front on the reputation of his uncle, the great Napoleon. He worked the French people to a finish, built palaces, boulevards and playgrounds until he had everybody for him, and then got captured by the Germans, lost his reputation and throne, and France became a republic for the third time. This was in 1871, and the republic has lasted forty years, much longer than expected, but in fact the government has been wisely conducted and has understood the French character well. There is another Napoleon, by the name of Victor, who is likely to come back, and sometime when the government does an imprudent thing the people will remember the good old times of Napoleon and return to a monarchy. Victor married the daughter of the old Emperor of Belgium, and has a big campaign fund.
Of course everybody knows these facts, and I have recited them to illustrate the French national character. The French are not false, but they are fickle. They like a change, a novelty, an excitement. A revolution, or a new government, appeals to their sense of enjoyment just as does a new picture, a new hat, or a new coiffure. In spite of this trait they have done great things in all the great lines of advancement and progress. Theoretically they should be failures, but in fact they are successful. They consider Paris the greatest city of the world, and the way the people of other countries come here and add to the circulating medium seems to prove they are right. They practically refuse to learn any other language, but all other countries study French. Thousands of English and American Puritans come to Paris every year, but the Frenchman who travels for pleasure is unknown. Why is it? I give it up, unless we have some French tastes along with our English standards.
The French people are the most temperate, most economical and most saving of any of the peoples of Europe—or America. With all their fun they love money, and never forget the necessity of having some in their old age. Get off the Parisian boulevards, which are spoiled by visitors, and you see the French, pure and simple, though not so very pure and not at all simple. They will bargain and figure down to the “sou,” the popular coin, worth two American cents. Every French family figures on spending less than it makes, and does it. There are practically no savings banks and no one much has a bank account, but as soon as a little money is saved it is invested in government bonds or municipal or railroad bonds, which bear four per cent interest. Every family has government bonds, and this habit of investing in securities is the reason which makes France so great and strong financially. The people pile their savings into the government treasury, the only bank they know. The family, which is always small in France, must save for the daughter’s dot, or she will never be married, and for the last years of the parents’ lives. There are practically no abjectly poor people in France. It is not fashionable to be poor, and French men and French women must be fashionable.
The Place de la Concorde is a wonderful square, larger than a couple of our city blocks. In the center is an obelisk, presented by Mohammed Ali when he was viceroy of Egypt and before the bargain sale of obelisks took place. It is a block of red granite, 75 feet high and covered with hieroglyphics which tell the deeds of an Egyptian gentleman named Rameses. The obelisk is surrounded by large fountains with mermaids and Tritons and dolphins spouting water into lower basins. Around the square are statues representing the eight principal cities of France. Since the monuments were erected one of these cities, Strassburg, has been taken by the Germans. This was forty years ago, but the monument still stands, and it is draped in mourning. In any other country the statue would have been quietly removed, but the French are not built that way. They hang their wreaths around Strassburg, swear vengeance on the Germans, and have a good time.
This mourning habit is very popular in Paris. The ladies who are called upon to mourn do so with proper regard for appearances. As near as I can figure it out the death of a second cousin puts all the female members of a family into deep black. A mourning-gown with a very hobble skirt, with the hoisery and millinery to match and with plumes and décolleté neck to strengthen the effect,—well, it does not detract from the human interest one naturally takes at such a time.